


Anytime

by xel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Halloween themed AU, Humor, also just ... so fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xel/pseuds/xel
Summary: Hana’s spending the night at Fareeha’s apartment and honestly just being the best wing-man for her at the local Walgreens.
  “Hey,” says Hana, “hey, can we play Mario next?”
  “Er, sure,” says Fareeha, who has a Wii and has played Mario casually at 3 in the morning when she couldn’t sleep, but who will absolutely not be able to keep up with Hana Song, pro video gaming pre-teen.





	1. Chapter 1

Fareeha is covered in pumpkin innards; it’s all in her hair, there’s something which feels suspiciously like a seed in the heel of her boot. Hana is dancing around her legs like a hyperactive rabbit, pizza in one hand, mt. dew in the other. (Not the best nutritional choices, but Fareeha didn't know what else to do on short notice.)

“Hey,” she says, “ _hey_ , can we play Mario next?” Fareeha watches her. 

“Er, sure,” says Fareeha, who has a Wii and has played Mario casually at three in the morning when she couldn’t sleep, but who absolutely will not be able to keep up with Hana Song, pro video gaming pre-teen.

Hana’s parents, Fareeha’s next door neighbors, are home less often than Fareeha herself, which is saying something, as Fareeha spends a significant amount of her time traveling. Her job, which involves testing and finding flaws in the security systems of a number of corporations, takes her all over the country for weeks at a time, broken up by a week or two of not working. 

It’s the weeks that she isn’t working that Hana bangs on her door proclaiming that she cannot take another night with the babysitter and “ _Pleaaaaaase let me spend the night tonight?”_

Fareeha isn’t good with kids - and at 12, Hana _is_ a kid - but Hana’s also not the worst kid in the world. And having grown up with her mother, a military woman through and through, also absent most days, Fareeha gets where Hana is coming from at the very least.

“So we are not finishing the pumpkin?” Fareeha clarifies, she and Hana simultaneously gaze out to her apartment’s patio, where a pumpkin has been cut open and gutted, but remains wholly un-carved. Earlier, Hana had amused herself with throwing the seeds and stringy pumpkin bits at Fareeha, and Fareeha had retaliated accordingly. They would both need showers, needless to say. “We have murdered a pumpkin and will not even properly send it off.” Fareeha smiles, and then the smile falters. She forgets until after the words have left her mouth, that maybe these are not the types of things that someone should say in front of a kid. But then:

“We can play _Taps_ for it later,” Hana says dismissively, finishing her pizza. Fareeha is surprised how easily that rolls off _her_ tongue. It’s a dark sense of humour for a child to have, isn’t it? Hana, unperturbed, wipes her greasy hands on her shorts and turns to the TV, finger extended in exclamation. “But now - Mario!”

Fareeha finds herself chuckling. She wires the Wii to the TV and turns it on, then hands a control to Hana and grabs the other. Hana’s lights up, flashing blue, and she’s already got her game face on.

Fareeha’s blinks blue four times and refuses to do any more. Fareeha mutters a curse in Arabic.

“Hey - I heard that!” Hana says, “no cussing, not even in other languages!”

“Ah … sorry,” Fareeha says, “I think that I am out of batteries.” This gets the younger girls attention. 

“What?” Hana frowns, lunges for Fareeha’s controller. Fareeha gives it over without much fuss and watches as Hana turns it over, tinkers with the batteries, and comes to the same conclusion.

“Perhaps we can run to the convenience store?” Fareeha suggests. Hana ponders it for a moment, then nods resolutely, tossing the controller onto the couch in a mad dash to her shoes.

There is a Walgreens within two minutes of their apartment complex which Fareeha has never been to in the year since having moved in. Despite its close proximity, Hana demands Fareeha’s phone, hooks it into the AUX input and blares K-pop for all two minutes of it. Fareeha’s not sure what’s being said as Hana sings at the top of her lungs, but she hopes it’s nothing profane.

 

 

* * *

 

They make quite the pair, walking into a Walgreens at 10:30 on a Saturday night, covered in pumpkin seeds and goo. Fareeha is grateful that the store is virtually desolate.

Although, it is perhaps because it is so empty that the woman behind the pharmacy counter, one elbow on the surface, propping up her chin, calls to them with a friendly “hello!” when they step through the threshold. Fareeha turns to her, and stares perhaps longer than is entirely necessary.  

She is radiant, simply put. She glows under the fluorescent lights of the store. Her hair is blonde and shines in such a way that when she turns her head it almost appears as though a halo is resting atop it. Fareeha coughs and is halfway through a hello when Hana, with a devilish grin, stamps further into the store, spins around, and declares loudly:

“We murdered a pumpkin!”

The woman brings a hand to her mouth to hide a laugh (her eyes crinkle a little when she does so) as Fareeha follows Hana to the pharmacy counter.

“That is the best conversation starter I’ve heard all night,” the woman laughs.

Now that Fareeha is closer, she can read a nametag - Angela.

“I can see that it was quite the ordeal, what with that -” she points to stringy pumpkin guts on Fareeha’s tank top “and there,” this time she points to a seed still stuck in Hana’s hair. “With all that mess, I hope you have pictures of the finished product,” she turns to Fareeha here, winks, and then turns back to Hana. Fareeha is grateful, because the blood rushes to her face in a way she knows is unbefitting, and she’s not entirely sure that even her dark complexion could disguise it.

“We did not quite make it to the carving part,” Fareeha recovers, and chuckles, “we got a little distracted–”

“Oh,” says Angela, her eyes soft but her voice sounding genuinely disappointed.

“– by pizza,” Hana adds helpfully, a fierce grin on her lips.

“I guess that’s an acceptable reason,” Angela tells her with a smile.

“And now we’re going to play Mario!” and here Hana’s grin splits so large it almost looks painful, but this is a girl who would kill a man for an extra hour of video games at night. Angela also smiles, wider this time, turns to Fareeha.

“Oooh that sounds like so much fun, can I come over and play?”

Fareeha knows she’s just being nice, that she’s probably not serious - and yet, she flashes a smirk says:

_“Anytime.”_

A little too smoothly; it comes out as a purr of sorts.

There’s a moment of radio silence as Fareeha’s own actions cement themselves as reality in her brain; as Angela smiles; as Hana looks between the two of them, like she’s watching an awful sitcom play out. And then Fareeha steps back, hits a candy display, fumbles, laughs awkwardly; mutters:

“Hmm … If you would like … _the more the Mario_?”

Hana audible groans “oh my god.”

Fareeha cannot remember a time she was ever such a bumbling fool, and if the ground swallowed her whole this instant, it would be a blessing.

Angela, probably in an effort to preserve Fareeha’s all but non-existent dignity, laughs politely, in a contained and beautiful and truly unfair way and then turns her prescription pad around to Fareeha.

“Here, write down your number, I may take you up on your offer,” and there’s that wink again. Fareeha, embarrassed, scribbles her number down, writes her name above it, says a quick farewell and pushes Hana towards the batteries. They purchase them quickly and as they’re heading to the door, Angela calls out:

“Goodbye, Fareeha!”

Fareeha and Hana wave back. Hana exuberantly, Fareeha in the reserved kind of way only someone who has truly put their foot in their mouth can.

They make it to the car in relative silence. Fareeha sits down, Hana sits down, they both close their doors. There’s a moment of quiet, and then Hana turns to Fareeha and shakes her head softly.

“Dude,” she says, in a sort of sympathetic way, that manages to convey an equal amount of judgment. Fareeha stares straight forward. Inhales deeply, exhales deeply.

 _“I know,”_ she says, starts the car, drives them home.

* * *

Later that night, Fareeha sitting on the couch, watching Hana beat Bowser, having long since given up on the two player campaign, hears her phone buzz with a new text message.

It’s from an unknown number. 

_"Anytime?"_


	2. These Days (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have a couple of comments at the end of this chapter, but for now know this:
> 
> Everything moving forward in this story will be in collaboration with the amazing and wonderful Boricuasniper who has provided me with all the prompts for future chapters. 
> 
> I'm just taking the prompts and running with them. So thank Boricusniper if you end up liking the larger story! (I'll try to do the prompts justice, but I think I'm coming to the conclusion that my writing is not conductive to full length stories hahah aaaaaaah *crying* ... we'll see!)
> 
> Chapter 2&3 Prompt (I broke it up into two parts):
> 
> 1\. 4 days after chapter 1) Pharah spends the day with hana (who has become her “wingman” moral support for asking angela out ) at the park and they bump into angela walking her dog,they decided to spend the day together until nightfall when angela bids them goodbye

Fareeha stares dubiously at her phone, at the unanswered  _ “Anytime?”  _ text message in its plain, simple font. No follow up had come, and in her frantic, giddy state of having first received it, she hadn’t known what to say. In her much more rational state … honestly, not much had changed. She groans, turns the phone off, stuffs it in her pocket. 

“You  _ still _ haven’t answered?” Hana says, a judging edge to her tone. She blows a bubble from her gum, it gets to about fist size before it pops and then she sucks it in and begins chewing again. She’s hanging upside down off of Fareeha’s couch, just tall enough that her feet are barely able to rest on the top of the couch, playing a game. Fareeha thinks she’s doing well, but every few seconds Hana lets out a frustrated whine and so she isn't actually sure.

“I don’t know how to respond,” Fareeha confesses, sheepishly. How does one go about talking to a very cute pharmacist? … And past that, how can someone like her, who is never around, maintain any type of relationship; friendly or otherwise. 

Is it worth it? 

“At this point,” says Hana, pressing pause to look Fareeha in the eye; a rare occasion. Hana is not easily distracted from her games. It is only half effective. Upside down, Hana’s frown looks like a smile and Fareeha cannot take her seriously. “I think saying  _ hi _ would be good enough.” 

Fareeha hums, running her fingers over the phone’s edges in her pocket as she watches the pre-teen return to her game. 

It’s beautiful outside; the sun is golden rays on red and orange leaves. It’s chilly, not yet cold, (although Fareeha, who is not used to mild weathered temperatures is, even inside, wearing a hoodie) and by all accounts, is the perfect day. It seems a shame to waste it being inside, lights off, like bats. 

“Would you like to go to the park?” Says Fareeha, her eyes not moving from the window, the world beyond. 

“Not really,” replies Hana, she mashes a button, a character on screen screams, and her lips twitch up in a triumphant grin. Fareeha smirks.

“Perhaps I should rephrase: you can come to the park with me, or you can go to your nanny, but I am not leaving you alone in my apartment. Not after last time.”

Hana looks at Fareeha, Fareeha looks right back. In a battle of wills, Fareeha will win every time. Hana mutters under her breath and then says:

“ _ Fiiiiiiiine _ ,” but before Fareeha can say more, she adds: “just let me finish this level!”

And so she does. It takes her fifteen minutes, but she does. 

 

* * *

Fareeha makes sure Hana’s got her coat on, a pair of gloves in her pockets (even though Hana protests loudly that  _ it’s not even cold! _ ), and then puts on her own jacket - a worn leather one she’d stolen from her mom as a teenager - and they walk out into the sunshine. 

“We should go to the park by my school,” says Hana, a grin set firm on her lips, any resentment towards the loss of video game playing apparently gone. Fareeha is relieved. In her logical mind, she knows that she gets to call the shots as the adult (and calling shots has never been hard for her, she is a senior at her job and a position like that requires tough decision making at the bare minimum); but she’s never really wanted to disappoint Hana.  _ Hana _ , who deserves better. “It’s got about a hundred swing sets!” 

“That is fine,” says Fareeha, “lead our way.” Hana loops an arm in hers and half pulls, half leads them down the sidewalk. Fareeha runs a finger over the phone in her pocket again. Blows out a sigh, shakes her head. What are the chances of her ever running into Angela again, anyway? 

Next to her, Hana talks animatedly. First about a friend she plays with online - a boy in Brazil with the username HippetyHopperFrogger. Who is apparently also a musician. Hana mentions that he’s been going to a lot of protests in his city and has been on less frequently, but that he won’t tell her what he is protesting. Fareeha is grateful for this, Hana is maybe a little too young to be exposed to more of the bad in the world than she already knows.    


“Kinda makes me worried, you know,” says Hana, chewing her gum. Fareeha is not blind to the distance Hana is putting between herself and the subject; Fareeha knows what feigning aloofness looks like. Hana’s a lot like Fareeha was as a kid, pretending that if she doesn’t show how much it really bothers her, maybe it’ll stop bothering her that much. Fareeha hums in acknowledgment. 

“I am sure that your friend is smart, and that he will not needlessly put himself in harm’s way,” says Fareeha, in comfort. But then adds, perhaps unwisely: “sometimes all you can do is support the people you care about, while they fight for the things they support.”

“I support world peace,” says Hana, kicks a stray rock on the sidewalk. Fareeha chuckles a little. 

“Me, too ya habibti,” she says. The term of endearment sneaks out. It is the first time Fareeha has heard the phrase since her mother had said it to her. Twenty years old and running. Running away. Running to join the military. That has been five years ago. Fareeha blinks. Hana turns to her, blinks, too. Misses everything, or perhaps sees too much of it, she looks forward again; says:

“Imagine fighting for world peace in giant robo armour! … rabbit robo armour.”

Fareeha’s mind stutters on the image of a large metal rabbit being piloted by one Hana Song and laughs so hard she almost doubles over. 

“Hey!” Hana says, pouting. Looking properly offended. 

 

* * *

 

The park is about a two mile walk and Fareeha ends up carrying Hana on her shoulders for a mile and a half of it. Despite the fact that Hana is too old to be carried. Despite the fact that Hana is bony and crosses her arms on Fareeha’s head and points out every squirrel and bird that she sees in the trees. 

When they get to the park, Fareeha is surprised to find that it is only mildly busy. There are a few families, a few joggers, a couple of dog walkers. Fareeha begins to head in the direction of the swingset - their prime objective - when Hana places a hand on both sides of her face and turns her head, whisper-shouting “look!” and so Fareeha does. This is what she sees:

One pharmacist Angela. A gray peacoat and a red scarf. Red glasses. Black boots. German shepherd dog. Her hair is pulled up, she’s staring down at her phone. Even from this distance, Fareeha can see that her brows are drawn together as she reads. She’s walking on the other side of the large loop of the park’s perimeter, a football field with small children at play between them.

Before Fareeha can even think about what to do, she hears Hana breath in deeply, and giving Fareeha no time to ponder the ramifications of that action, cups her mouth and yells at the top of her 12 year-old lungs:

“ANGELA!” 

Angela’s head snaps up, she looks around briefly for the source, and quickly finds Hana (who, thanks to her added almost six feet of height and the erratic way she’s waving her arms, is pretty easy to locate). Fareeha turns three different shades of red. The mortification rising up her throat, over her cheeks and ears. 

That aside, the placid, easy smile which comes to Angela’s lips as she waves back is the most beautiful thing Fareeha half wishes she wasn’t being confronted with right this instant. Still. She’s in it now. Fareeha begins walking across the field, gets two steps in and then remembers the football game, promptly spins on her heel to run around the goal, apologizing to a little girl who berates her for almost interrupting the game. Hana sticks her tongue out. 

When they reach the other side of the field, Fareeha sets Hana on the ground, rubs her shoulders. Hana immediately runs forward, begins petting the dog. Fareeha hears Angela says “his name is Aldo,” hears Hana repeat it a few times, and then Angela turns back to her.

“Well, well,” says the pharmacists, a smile which gives nothing away resting easily on her lips, “if it isn’t the pumpkin murderer and her partner in crime.” Fareeha laughs nervously, says after a brief moment of somewhat awkward silence:

“Can I be the partner in crime?” 

Angela laughs, and it’s beautiful and it’s totally unfair. Hana rolls her eyes. “Obviously,” she says, still petting Aldo, and then turns to Angela, says conspiratorially: “I didn’t know you came to this park! It’s good though, because we needed to see you today.”

“Oh?” Angela prompts, raising an eyebrow. Fareeha does not like where this is going. Hana continues.

“Fareeha’s been looking at your message all day, who knows how long it would have taken her to hmprff-” 

“That’s enough,” says Fareeha, her hand firmly over Hana’s mouth. Angela laughs again. 

“I was wondering if I would be hearing back from you,” she confesses, “although, I was perhaps being a bit too forward.” She winks, and Fareeha feels a pleasant warmth in the pit of her stomach. 

“No - no not at all,” says Fareeha. Hana licks her palm and Fareeha withdraws her hand, looks at it, grabs Hana by the arm and wipes her palm across the girl’s back. 

“Ewwwwwww,” Hana screeches, but it goes largely ignored.

“I was just looking  _ for words  _ that were good enough,” says Fareeha, smiles sauvely. Hana and Angela both look at her, the wind blows both of their hair up and about their faces. “For words?” says Fareeha, “you know like ‘forward’?” Hana shakes her head softly. 

“Why are you this way?” she whispers.    


“No, no,” says Angela, fighting back a grin, “it was a … good one,” the sincerity of the statement falls a bit short on the account of the laughter which follows. 

“I do not usually make this many puns,” Fareeha says, wishing desperately now, that they had just stayed in her living room, in the dark, staring at the television. 

“You have an affinity for them,” Angela responds, “are you trying to flirt with me?” Angela says. Fareeha thinks it’s a rather bold thing to ask, and she blinks stupidly, and then says, somewhat lamely.

“Yes,” 

(Hana snickers somewhere beside her.)

“Is it working?” 

Angela smirks.

“It’s beginning to,” she replies, a teasing quip to her voice. Fareeha can see a blush on the other woman’s cheeks, but they way she acts, talks, moves, is done with such confidence, Fareeha’s not entirely sure it’s even real - no matter how bright it burns across her face. 

Hana elbows Fareeha in the side, makes a motion like eating noodles and Fareeha gets the message. Feeling empowered she clears her throat. 

“Would you like to come over for dinner tonight, Angela --?” Fareeha says. 

“Ziegler,” Angela supplies helpfully. 

“Angela Ziegler,” Fareeha corrects. “With Hana and I?” she gestures between she and the younger girl. Angela hums in thought, a closed lipped smile, and looks briefly to the side, as if dragging out the suspense. 

“Yes,” she says after a time. Fareeha smirks in triumph, before Angela says: “on two conditions,”

“Oh -” says Fareeha, “alright?” 

“Aldo comes along,” she says. Fareeha looks down at the dog. He wags his tail, his tongue is sticking out. He is ridiculously well behaved and reminds Fareeha keenly of the K9 soldier (Debbani) in her unit. She’d loved that dog, and his handler…

“Done,” Fareeha says, “and the other?” Angela smirks.

“I want a last name,” she says. The thing that immediately pops in Fareeha’s head is to say she is more than welcome to hers, but she refuses to put her foot in her mouth again, and so does not go that route. 

“Amari,” says Fareeha, “my full name is Fareeha Amari.” 

Angela smiles at her. Fareeha smiles back.

“Mine’s Song,” says Hana, suddenly, from beside them, “you know, if you were curious.”   
Angela laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for a few more notes:
> 
> 1) If you'd like a sneak peak of what future chapters will entail, the full prompt list can be reviewed over here: http://overbearingwatch.tumblr.com/post/153154223717/submission-anytime-fiction-prompt-suggestions
> 
> 2) I totally intended to start on this basically immediately after I got the prompts but then I got sick and have been sick basically ever since ... like, am still sick. It is the wooooorst. :')))))) 
> 
> 3) I'm going to try to update on Sunday nights (around the time I'm uploading now)! Please feel free to harass me if I'm being slow haha.
> 
> 4) I'm breaking this chapter into 2 parts because it got to 2,000 words and six pages and I got tired and quality towards the end of the chapter decreased so I just... thought it'd be better to pick it up on a second part. 
> 
> 4) And lastly: I am ... very sorry for how out of character this is and will likely continue to be. Sometimes that happens in AUs, and usually it happens when I'm the writer ^^; but I'll try to be conscious of it and correct myself when it starts getting, like, horrendous.
> 
> Thank you all for such positive reception on the first chapter!! It really ... meant so much to me, and I truly am just so happy that y'all liked reading it and were so kind in both your comments and giving this story kudos. I love y'all. <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is cross-posted, but I'll probably delete it off of here at some point, because I'm trying to avoid having a thousand one-shots hanging around. But in the meantime - Halloween themed fluff! Because happy Halloween!! 
> 
> Honestly, this only exists because I was watching my cousin on Saturday and we went to Walgreens covered in pumpkin juices and the cute girl behind the counter did actually ask if we had pictures and if she could come play video games with us.
> 
> Sorry this is literally the most out of character thing you will likely ever read... haha ... ha.... ahh.........


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